2 May 1999
by LJ Summers
Summary: At the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, many survivors have to face guilt and sorrow. We make memorials for our heroes, but do we appreciate them? All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, who apologizes for character deaths every year. I, however, do not.
_**A/N:** I'm writing. Working on the Harry/Hermione AU, of course, as well as other things. I totally forgot it was the 18th Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and I decided to commemorate it. This is not light and fun or romantic. It's just . . . what came out of my head. I'm in a mood._

* * *

They held hands, the three of them. Held tight and hard, knuckles white, the tips of their fingers pink, all three of them. Striding across the green grass, Hogwarts behind them in all her rebuilt glory, they looked neither to the right nor to the left. In unspoken agreement, they focused only on the grove of trees ahead of them. A grove of trees that sheltered a small, marble memorial.

Minerva McGonagall had had a year to prepare herself for this day. A year to strengthen her eyes, her resolve, her facial muscles. A year to prepare herself to see the three who approached her. A year to find the words to say to the gathered masses that only wanted to celebrate. It hadn't been long enough, though her planned speech was clutched in much-folded parchment in her hand.

She tried to clear her throat whilst cameras caught the three at the memorial. Then, with a careful Sonorous Charm, she spoke.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." There were cheers, there were sighs, and the great shuffling of a general shifting about as everyone took their seats save for the three at the marble memorial. "On behalf of the staff and board, as well as the students of Hogwarts, I want to thank all of you for coming to remember the fallen and to celebrate our victory."

The young witch with clear brown eyes who stood in the memorial grove shuddered, but she said nothing. Her companions gripped her hands more tightly but they all turned to listen to the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

"We did indeed win a victory last year. The final battle was fought here, on the grounds of our ancient school. A great evil was destroyed and we were liberated to live again. Live freely, without fear of attack. New laws are in place to see to the rights of all in Wizarding Britain. New standards have been brought to bear here in Hogwarts, as well. But such renewal could not come without sacrifice. Minister?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood slowly, his imposing figure somberly resplendent in silk robes of a deep blue. His head was bare and he wore an earring in his left ear: a crystal shard. He barely needed to cast his own Sonorous Charm, but he did so, after bowing to the trio in the grove, who still clung to one another's hands. "Many of us here do celebrate, today. We breathe more easily, knowing the _Daily Prophet_ won't be peppered with death notices, attacks, and signs of the Dark Mark in the sky. Many of us have chosen to remember the villain of our age as Tom Riddle rather than hide in fear of his adopted name. And far too many of us are here today to remember our losses. Losses deep and wide as the ocean. Losses we feel now and will feel years from now."

Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement, pointed her wand toward the sky as the Minister for Magic recited the names of all who had died during the Blood Wars. With each name, Madam Bones shot red sparks—the signal of distress—into the air. With each name, someone amongst the spectators rose to their feet, pride and sorrow on their faces.

At length, there was a pause and Kingsley cleared his throat. Loudly. "Hermione Granger."

No one stood. Kingsley knew that would be the case, but he had a point to make so he resolutely ignored the gasps of the trio behind him and to his left. "Harry Potter." Still no one stood.

The silence stood for them.

Then, the outbreak of cries, gasps of disbelief, mutterings of discomfort rose and fell like Muggle poison gas amongst the celebrants.

"Wait! Didn't someone get Granger's parents?"

"They're Muggles!" another voice shouted, sounding dismayed. "And no one—"

"No one knows where they are," Kingsley interposed with authority. "Because Hermione Granger performed a great work of Magic to hide them from those who would have destroyed them because of her. Because of Harry Potter."

"Wait!" someone else called. "Potter? Doesn't he have—"

"No one." The Minister planted his feet firmly on the dais where he stood, shoulders back, daring anyone to contradict him. A wind blew up, sending robes skirling about legs, mussing hair, and tossing branches about in the nearby grove. "Who stood by Harry and Hermione there at their last confrontation? Who amongst any of us? We let a boy with a scar fight our ultimate battle. We let his best friend die in our stead. Who amongst us thought to be their family last year?"

"We did!" Three voices shouted as one from the marble memorial. "We were here, but they left us." Ginny Weasley declared with a firm gaze at the gathering.

Ron Weasley nodded, still holding his sister's hand. "But we left them first."

Their brother George sighed. "We all did."

"I saw them. They, they put me in a body bind, but I saw them."

Neville Longbottom appeared from a place hidden amongst the trees, his step solid, his eyes haunted. Minerva mourned the lad he'd been so many years ago. This man, the one before her, was a warrior, a survivor, but he would never be able to live a life free from his burdens. "Show us, Mister Longbottom," she said with a sweep of her wand.

A pensieve was revealed on the dais. One that had been created just for this event. Combining Muggle technology with Wizarding magic, this pensieve projected the memory to all who were within a defined radius of the pensieve's reflective surface.

 ****pensieve projection****

"I'll go with you!" Hermione Granger said, sooty and ragged and clearly wounded. She was thinner than many remembered her being, and her entire aspect portrayed her anguish that her best friend would be going to meet his fate without her. Behind her, the walls of Hogwarts were beaten ragged. Ron Weasley stood, gape-faced and in shock. He was shaking his head, pale and bloody.

Harry held out an arm as if in plea. "No, 'Mione—I can't let you."

"I'll put you in a full body bind, Harry! Don't make me do that!"

Despite their circumstances, the Boy Who Lived laughed, pushing his skewed glasses up his nose and beckoning to Hermione with his wand. She came, throwing herself at him and kissing his neck, tears on her face.

"Stay here, Ron," Harry directed. The other boy nodded. "Tell everyone . . . we've done our best."

"You tell 'em Harry!"

The Chosen One only shook his head before pulling gently away from Hermione.

Her wand was out. "Don't even think it, Potter."

"All right, Granger, all right!"

Hand in hand, the pair ran toward Neville Longbottom, who was holding the Sorting Hat. "I'm coming, too."

"Neville!" the pair said, voices hopeful but sad.

"It could have been me, you know."

"I know."

Hermione smiled. "Well, come on then."

"Hermione!" Harry whispered.

"Shh! You never know, Harry!"

The three of them, a trio, walked quickly into the forest, where Voldemort, the self-styled Dark Lord, waited. The air was shadowy around them as they moved in slowly, but the pensieve showed no faltering. No hesitation. They just moved forward with Harry in the middle, almost taking point.

"You came." The trio froze midstep as a pale, horrifying visage came into view. "And you brought friends. Of course. So did I." He flicked his wand and the display shifted to show a terrible sight: a flying snake.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted as he leapt to stand before Hermione.

His heroics were immediately demonstrated as unnecessary though, as Neville plunged his hand into the wrinkled Hat and withdrew the Sword of Gryffindor. "For my parents!" he shouted as he intercepted the serpentine projectile with the cutting edge of the sword.

"Nagini!" Voldemort shouted in his rasping way. "No!"

" _Protego_!" Harry shouted, to shield Neville.

" _Protego_!" Hermione shouted, to shield Harry.

"That was the last one, 'Mione! We've got him. C'mon!"

Hermione shook herself and stood to face Voldemort. Her face was set and there was nothing about her that said "schoolgirl". She was an amazon. "Avada Kedavra!" she cried.

Harry made a loud, wordless cry as their opponent's shield reflected the Killing Curse back to Hermione. Tears already pouring over his cheeks, Harry growled, "No!"

Neville bounded up at that juncture, calling their names, and Voldemort only glanced at him with a casually flung Killing Curse. He didn't even use the incantation.

" _Petrificus Totalis_ ," Harry called, his reaction time stunning as he wrapped Neville in a body-bind and sent him into the branches of the tree. "Now, Tom."

"Harry . . . a pleasure." He glanced down at Hermione, lying lifeless at Harry's feet. "Doubly so, in fact."

Harry gripped his wand in one hand and then, flicked his other wrist for another wand. " _Expelliarmus_!" he shouted, aiming with his right hand as Voldemort cast wandlessly with an angry shout.

With his left, though, Harry cast _silently_. A curse that decapitated Voldemort with an explosive gush of blood and gray matter—

—just as Harry's own torso was ripped in two, in a curse that resembled nothing so much as an Entrail Expeller, but was more comprehensive.

The memory ended as Neville was freed from his curse by the death of all who were in the forest with him.

 ****end projection****

"I took Nagini's head with me, back to the castle," Neville said, sans Sonorous Charm. It didn't matter; everyone heard his rough voice. All muffled their shock and sorrow to catch every word that fell from his mouth. "The Death Eaters were writhing on the grounds and the Aurors bound them for trial." He inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "I saw Mister and Missus Weasley, fighting and winning." He nodded at the redheaded couple. "I saw Missus Tonks, with her grandson. And, and so many of us from the D.A. We were there. And it felt weird, you know."

The Weasley siblings moved as one out of the shelter of the memorial grove to surround Neville. "We know," George murmured. Only they heard.

"I was so glad, so glad to see my mum and dad," Ron shouted, emotion making his face white before he flared into a bright red blush. "So glad to see that Charlie and Bill and Ginny were here. And Percy. We missed Fred—"

"—So much!" George said, his voice thick with a sob. "We didn't know what to do. We just—"

"We just held each other. And everyone else."

Minerva and Kingsley each produced handkerchiefs and wiped without any delicacy at their faces. They weren't alone. A rolling wave of weeping swept over the gathering.

"It wasn't right, what happened," Ginny declared, her voice clear and sharp. "It wasn't right. I'm not saying it was. That one boy had to do this horrible thing for all of us. But what we will never let happen . . . we will never forget them again. Not ever. Not ever again!"

"Never again!"

 **. . . .**

Long after the grounds were bare once more, Minerva McGonagall set her unused parchment on fire on top of the marble memorial. Carved into the gold-veined stone were these words:

 _ **Bearers of**_

 _ **The Order of Merlin**_

 _ **First Class**_

 _ **Harry James Potter**_

 _ **and**_

 _ **Hermione Jean Granger**_

 _ **Having Done What We Did Not**_

 _ **We Will Remember Them**_

 _ **From Now Until**_

 _ **The Ending of the World**_

* * *

 _ **A/N:** So. Yeah. Maybe I'll find something amusing for another HP-versary fic, eh? _


End file.
